


Party Room

by elk_cloner



Category: Jimmy and The Pulsating Mass
Genre: Gen, Impregnation Kink, Other, Reader-Insert, Rimming, im so sorry kasey, reader uses no pronouns throughout but yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elk_cloner/pseuds/elk_cloner
Summary: In a bustling city full of strange dream creatures, walking fish heads wearing foam lifesavers, and humans wearing really flashy and inconvenient outfits, a single arcade employee is bored out of their mind. That arcade employee is you, and it is 8:32 PM on a smoggy Sunday night.





	Party Room

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally a short drabble my partner wrote for me as a holiday gift that i planned to only edit slightly with permission but it turned into an over 6k wordcount disaster! Whoops! blame him for this trainwreck and also for most of the dialogue ok bye

You’re so bored.

Today’s a shitty day. You barely got any sleep last night, your bus was delayed due to the amount of fog rolling through the city today, and, just your luck, there has been absolutely no one here all day. Not even that one weird red-headed kid who keeps beating everyone’s high scores. The only thing that’s keeping you awake currently is the bright fluorescent light emitting from the counter’s display case.

You glance up at the fancy scrolling digital clock. It’s 8:32. A bunch of animated stick figures doing cartwheels and fireworks follow, along with an ad for discounted tokens for kids under 8. Amazing.

You drearily pick yourself up from the metal case, a pool of old drool left in your wake, as you recite the same thing you’ve been saying for your entire shift.

“Slow day, today.”

That is your mantra for the day. A mantra that will hopefully manage to summon at least one customer willing to pay a kind of exorbitant amount for tokens in exchange for tickets which are henceforth exchanged for shitty little prizes. What is the world coming to these days that a kid doesn’t want a single tootsie roll from playing 50 unsatisfying rounds of Generic Hunting Game 2000-whatever?!

You guess that’s for the best, though. The arcade recently got in a shipment of cheap plastic kazoos and you’re not sure your psyche could take that kind of an audible pounding at this very moment. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard this UTAU cover of Caramelldansen about 10 times now over the arcade’s sound system and you’re already kind of starting to lose it, to be frank.

Despite all this noise, you never would’ve guessed until working here that an arcade could be so quiet. Not audibly, of course (if had the chance you would’ve strangled the life out of whoever thought the Wheel of Marvelous should have such a loud and obnoxious attract mode), but more visually. Arcade cabinets are not very interesting objects to observe for hours at a time. They can't really come up and ask about the prizes at the counter or where the restrooms are. You saw a robot come in here once or twice, but that's about it. At this point, you're more of a bodyguard for the gallery of cheap prizes lit up by the display case's interior lights. Some of them are more weapons of destruction, but you don't really have the chutzpah to complain to your superiors directly about that, even if they were ever around to chastise you for complaining in the first place. Plus the idea of a kid asking for a damn grenade is really funny to you.

“Slow day, today.”

As usual, nothing.

“Slow day, today.”

...One more time.

“Slow-ass day.”

…

“Sl-“

Finally, you are greeted with the familiar “bing bong” of the arcade door’s electronic doorbell. You jolt back up, ready for your first customer that’s probably just someone who got lost on their way to the record store and needs directions, but your excitement quickly warps into fear when it is immediately followed up with the sound of metal slamming against tile and glass breaking. The doorway of the mostly-empty arcade has been kicked open and shattered, a group of rowdy-looking silhouettes cast by the neon lights outside reflecting off the heavy fog, making the world outside look as though it belonged in a 80's music video. The one in the middle has, from what you can tell and can only describe as, the world's most perfect pompadour.

This is absolutely not what you wanted. You kind of wanted to die, but not THIS much. You hide yourself behind the counter, bracing yourself for the worst, peeking out just enough to scope out what exactly they’re doing.

He raises his arms into the air, shouting into the arcade's entrance with a fervor only rivaled by a coked-up wrestling announcer.

_“ATTENTION, PARTY PEOPLE! THE PETTY THUGS ARE HERE TO LOCK THIS FUNKY CLUB DOWN AND GET **FRESH!** ”_

...What?

You slowly pop yourself back up behind the counter, making sure they don’t have any loaded rifles or anything. A few of them are dragging some bats behind them, but that’s about all you can tell.

“Sir, th-this isn’t a club. It’s an arcade. Please keep your voice down,” you attempt to say over the incessantly beeping cabinets in the sternest tone you can muster at the moment. At least it isn’t a robbery, maybe?

The man's arms slowly lower, a few of his cohorts looking around in confusion.

_“OH, SORRY, I DIDN’T REALIZE THIS WA-...”_ He coughs. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize this was an arcade.”

The roughneck mob strolls in through the door, the gang totally composed of identical goons, and a few higher-up ruffians apparently led by a sunglasses-wearing meathead with a wannabe-Bōsōzoku hairdo. He’s trailed closely by a chubby black guy, a lesbian, and a bald imbecile. One final goon enters, looking nothing like the rest, sporting a pair of glasses and suspenders. Out of nowhere, the arcade's music is interrupted by a weird, bubbly tune.

“I see you’re confused, understandably.” He tightens and adjusts his bowtie with a totally blank expression on his face. “What you’re about to read is a specialized type of fan fiction, or, as it is often shortened to, ‘fanfic’. It is referred as a Reader Insert Fic. It also goes by other names, like Reader Fic, Reader x Canon, and many others. This work also contains adult content, also known as Lemon, and if you are under 18 or simply squeamish of the subject material, please back out now! The Reader Insert is simple to understand, similarly written to most fan fiction, but instead of either first-person or third-person writing styles, it relies on a second-person perspective instead! As well as-“

The music stops. The strange man’s ramblings are suddenly interrupted by a loud creaking noise emitting from the ceiling above him. He doesn’t react to this, staying completely still as a piece of masonry falls towards him. The ceiling tile made instant contact with his skull and collapsed it with a wet thunk upon impact, the gory sight causing you to flinch in secondhand pain. He drops, bleeding out all over the arcade’s tiled floor with the ceiling chunk still embedded in his head. Nobody even reacts to this aside from you, and before you even get the chance to process what just happened, the leader speaks up.

“Hey.”

You try to jerk yourself out of your shocked state. The arcade's speakers crackle to life once again and start to blare some nightcore.

“...Uh, hey?” You wave.

“Guess who it is. Who I am, that is.”

Silence follows. You look around, hoping someone would gather the courage to speak up in the face of provoking these cartoonishly-dressed bruisers, but the place is as much as a ghost town as usual, save for the antsy gang members flooding the entranceway. He barks at you once more.

“I’m asking if you, the dweeb at the counter, know who I am.” More silence.

“Do you know who I am?”

“...No.”

“Well, baby, y'know what?” He cracks his neck a couple of times along with his knuckles, quickly shaking off his awkward arrival. “That’s gonna change in one second, because I’m...” He runs out of the building for a moment, prompting the rest of his gang to clear out of the way, one screaming _“Oh Christ, he’s doing it AGAIN!!”_

With a loud rev of an engine, the leader enters once more, this time riding a motorcycle, popping a wheelie and flying out of control, leaving his motorcycle wrecked as he soars overhead, landing in a skee-ball machine with a sound of breaking glass and a distressed cat as he crashes down. Despite this, however, there’s just enough time to see the floating words still framing what would’ve been the freeze-frame of his awesome biking stunt:

He staggers up, a single skee-ball falling from his mouth with a dull clack as it hits the floor. He adjusts his sunglasses, squares up, and gives a hearty thumbs-up to nobody, his practically opaque sunglasses glimmering in the glow of the many fluorescent lights dotting the ceilings.

“Wicked.”

The pink-haired chick chimes in, the only girl in the sausagefest ahead of you.

“No, boss, it really wasn’t.”

“Psst, DeeDee, chill it out. Let me work my magic,” He says, attempting to whisper. It sounds more like he just stubbed his toe and is trying not to swear in front of a child.

Punch approaches you, arms behind his head in a way that’s blatantly trying to cover up the fact that he may be bleeding from where he had a high-speed motorcycle accident. “Hey, listen, we’re the Petty Thugs. No need to look so confused- I know you’ve heard of us, and it’s alright to be intimidated. We bring the pain, but hey, we also bring the party, you dig?” You have never heard of these guys in your life, but you keep quiet for now.

“Oh my god, did you just ask someone if they 'dig' something?”

“DeeDee, seriously, shut it. I’ve got this under control.”

“You’re bleeding, dumbass.”

“I know, but that doesn’t prevent me from having this under control. Lots of people bleed while keeping things under control.” He turns his back to you for a moment, giving you a clear view of the large patch on the back of his jacket, a poorly-drawn cracked skull with sunglasses. Subtle.

“...By the way, please don’t call the cops. Because, um... It won’t work. Just sayin'.” He looks down his sunglasses at you, giving a quick little smirk.

“And why's that, sir?” You're already crossing your arms, but you cross them harder for added emphasis.

“My, uh...” He hesitates. “My... UUUUUUuuuncle? Is... He's a cop. Yeah,” He says. “Good guy but he’s always bustin’ my chops, so I had to go up to him and say to him, 'yo, pops, chill!'”

“Uh, 'pops'? I thought he was your uncle.”

“I call my uncle pops sometimes. He’s like a father to me. Because...” He adjusts his sunglasses for added effect.

_“I never knew my father.”_

A goon approaches him, and briefly asks if he should cancel Father’s Day arrangements. He shoos them away.

“No, keep those on, I’m doing a bit.”

Punch turns around on his heels to face you again, the tile floor squeaking in protest. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you here... We, uh, kind of goofed here. We were trying to get to a club, and wound up here. Would it be okay if we, like... rented this place out for a couple hours? Could we just say it’s a birthday?” He shrugs.

You try to explain that birthday rental rooms are for families with children under fifteen only, but he interjects.

“Okay, cool, listen though, between the minor concussion and the blaring J-pop, I literally can’t hear a word that you’re saying. Wanna take this to a private room?” He points behind himself with his thumb towards a door with a blaring red “PARTY ROOM” sign tacked onto the front.

Before you can answer, he’s briskly scooting away into the birthday room next to the laser-tag maze, and gesturing for you to follow. “C’mon, chump, I ain’t got all day to wait for you!”

Despite how oblivious he is, there’s something inexplicably appealing about the sunglasses-wearing desperado that compels you to go into the room with him.

Once you enter, you find that he’s already sitting down with a room-temperature root beer with his feet up on the table. He once again looks down his glasses at you, almost spilling his soda on his pants as he tries to pull a sweet pose, leaning back in the chair.

“So, how’d a babe like you get stuck working as the cashier of a rinky-dink playplace like this, anyhow? With hair like yours, I would’ve figured you’d be one of those damn magic moon ladies, or already a member of the Petty Thugs. Which, uh, we’re currently accepting new members for, just so you know.” He shoots you a quick fingergun in your direction.

As you explain the monotonous details of how you acquired the job, he almost spits out his drink in surprise.

“Wait, whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. You mean to tell me you don’t always get the job, even if you apply for it?” It's impossible to tell for sure due to his glasses, but he looked as though he hard-blinked a few times at the incredulousness of your words. “I won’t lie... This... This seriously changes my perception of some of my past efforts in job interviews before I took up gooning. I may need to rethink some things I’ve said to the management of Pizza House Inc. in the past.” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck.

“...Uh, anyway, yeah, so irregardless I think the right option for me and you and the Thugs right now is to uh, let us hang out and eat things and break stuff without paying for any of it. That, I think, could be a new... Uh... A new para-dig-um for your business.”

“You mean a new paradigm?”

“Gesundheit. But yeah, a new para-dig-um could be... Uh... Letting us do whatever we want. Would that be cool?”

“No? Not at all, in fact.”

Punch crests his fingers by his face, doing a little Gendo pose.

“Alright, okay, that’s understandable, but listen, here’s the thing... I’m Punch Tanaka. _Punch. **Tanaka.**_ I can do... Well, just about anything. You scratch Punch’s back, he punches yours... Wait, no, scratches, rather. Excuse me. I look like a real fool. I will not punch your back.”

“Well, what can you do then, Mr. Tanaka?” You ask.

“I can steal things. I can ride a motorcycle. I’m a master of karate and tanakarate which I invented, by the way, and I can also make anyone love me by power of sheer charisma.”

You snort. “I-pfft, well, uh, I honestly doubt that.”

“Which part?” He leans into your words as eagerly as a so-called stoic cool guy can. “You shouldn’t be doubting any of them, of course, but I’m just, y'know, curious.”

“Most of it, to be honest, but mainly the 'making anyone love you' part. That's, uh...”

Tanaka promptly slams his drink down, the sudden motion causing you to jump a little, then hoists himself back out of his chair with his hands pressed against the table.

“Oh yeah? Well, what do you call this, then?”

He swishes his arm, and as if by magic, he has a fake rose clutched in his hand.

“It’s a fake rose, Mr. Tanaka.”

“Yeah, well, like, I mean the gesture of it, what do you call that?”

“Swishing your arm around.”

“It’s passion, baby. Lemme tell you something about Punch Tanaka... He’s a man of action, and a man of passion.”

You try to respond, but he cuts you off, standing up, shaking his other arm, and producing a real rose this time.

“Check it out, nerd.”

You're taken aback somewhat at his gesture. “Wow, uh, that’s actually vaguely impressive! Goodness, how’d you pull that one off?”

“Depends- you gonna let us crash here for a bit? Might tell you if you do, but no promises.”

You'd normally have a bunch of doofuses like this thrown out by now, but for some strange reason, you're kind of entranced by this flashy pompadour-ed man in leather, practically hypnotized by his clumsy, yet almost finessed, antics he constantly pulls. The rose was barely even a part of that, it's just that he's very... unique. Him and his cronies sure have supplied you with more entertainment than you've experienced in a month whilst stuck in this tickets and tokens-laden dump. Maybe, just maybe, he was right about that last skill of his, but you wouldn't dare admit that to yourself.

You drag your hands down your face, sighing in apparent defeat by the simultaneous hands of both Punch and your own boredom.

“Wellllll... Ah, what the hell, just don’t break too much stuff.”

Punch fist-pumps in the air. “Everything's coming up Punch Tanaka!”

He looks you over, grinning slyly at the view. “Hey, seriously though, thanks, you’ve done the Petty Thugs a solid, and we don’t forget our debts- especially not Punch Tanaka’s debts. And especially not when it’s something owed to a pretty thing like you.”

“W-what did you just say?”

Those last few words ring out in your head as if they were just shouted directly into your ear via an industrial megaphone, a direct hit to your confused and much-exasperated conscious.

“Sorry, sorry, don’t mean to press any buttons that don’t need pressin’. Just thought I’d say, I dig the hair.” He points two fingerguns at you this time- a new record! -along with a “click click” sound.

“No, no it’s okay, t-thank you, it’s just... You, er, caught me off guard, haha.”

“Yeah, catchin’ people off guard is what Punch Tanaka is all about.” You’re guessing he winked at you there. “Even learned a bit about refining that technique from a monk a while back. I mean, I don't recall which monk, but it definitely was a monk of some kind. There's a lot of monks around.”

“Oh, really?” You say, pulling up a chair to the soda-stained plastic table. Just as you're about to sit down, you get an idea, awkwardly hovering in place before rotating the chair around, sitting in it backwards in order to appeal to his rule-breaking attitude. Punch gives you a quick confirmational nod.

“You're quite the interesting guy, I'll tell you that, Mr. Tanaka. Would you mind telling me about yourself? That is, unless you want to attempt to play some heavily modified skee-ball.”

He laughs at your dumb joke, surprisingly enough. It's a deep and lively chuckle, your face warming up at the sound. You are so mad at yourself right now.

For what felt like hours after some proper introductions, the two of you shared stories and personal anecdotes between each other while drinking old sodas from the non-functioning mini-fridge in the back. Apparently, the Petty Thugs he mentioned earlier is a gang of, well, petty thugs, and he’s their boss. You’re pretty damn glad that they weren’t trying to rob the joint now like how you initially thought, but then again, you’re the one with grenades and chunks of plutonium. The three other goons that don’t look completely identical to the rest are the other highest-ranking members, Johnny Knives, DeeDee, and Big Enormous, respectively. He made the logo and had some help from Johnny sewing up every custom jacket. He also loves surf music, street food, drawing, and wants to own a dog someday once he can afford his own place that's at least slightly better than a shitty abandoned motel.

Eventually, you sense a lull slowly encroach itself over the conversation at hand. It seems like you’ve ran out of things to chat about, at least on your end. You sure as hell haven’t had as many wild adventures as he has. You're just some counter attendant, your only real expertise being in using those long metal hooks to grab giant bootleg Robo-Chan dolls off the top shelf and sneaking off with one or two small rubber bugs after your shift. It's almost as if you're more of a vehicle for someone to project on, rather than a fully-fleshed out person. You start to get a little worried over your own appeal before your train of thought is interrupted by remembering what sparked this whole exchange in the first place.

“Hey... what was that about, earlier?”

“What was what about? That time Johnny had an obsession with beanie babies? No clue what that was, either.”

“N-no, I mean when you called me, uh... ‘pretty’.”

Punch hops a bit in his seat, seemingly forgetting that he even said that in the first place.

“Well, eheh, um...” He coughs. “Am I wrong, though? You’re adorable. Look at that little bow in your hair! Like you belong in that Tetsuya Kawaii building or whatever.”

“Gee, uh, thank you, I guess!” Look at you, so flustered over a single compliment. You feel so dumb right now. “I mean, well, you’re... Y-you’re honestly not too bad looking yourself, Mr. Tanaka.”

“R-really, you mean it?... I mean, uh, yeah, of course!” He’s very obviously blushing, drumming his fingers against the desk in an anxious fervor. “Wanna, uh, get a slice of pizza or something?”

“...We don’t serve pizza here.”

“What?!” He exclaims, leaning in suddenly and slamming his hands on the table. “You’re stuck working in an arcade and you don’t even get pizza discounts?!”

“No, I mean, it’s just an arcade, there’s no restaurant component.”

“Oh my god! How do you eat?!”

“We go next door and eat lunch, or pack something from home, and eat here on break.”

“But it’s not pizza, is it, Y/N?”

“Not usually? I mean, sometimes, but-“

“Then it’s nothing! No arcade should go without pizza! That’s just inhumane. You poor, poor thing.”

He reaches out for a hug, and you can’t help but hug him back. He’s strong, but not overpowering, and relatively toned. It’s nice. He seems like a pretty legit guy once you get past the whole... Everything about him. You're feeling a little safer around him now, oddly enough.

“Dude, really, I’m okay! It’s not a big deal.”

“You have to understand- fighting for the rights of the little guy, making sure they have free pizza in their arcades... That’s the kind of crusade the Petty Thugs are all about! I think. Actually, I might need to check up on that, I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

As he’s pondering, muttering various rules of gooning under his breath, the bald buffoon you saw earlier peeks in, the door creaking in tandem with him leaning into view, a nervous expression painted on his face.

“Oh, hey, uh, boss? Any news? DeeDee and Big are getting antsy.” He gestures back behind him.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry Johnny, we’re good. Just don’t make too much of a mess, alright?”

“You got it, boss!” Johnny closed the door with his trademark impossibly wide smile and ran out, visible through the weak one-way mirrors that covered the storage closet-like windows, letting staff see if any kids were getting rowdy- you could see the whole gang, but they couldn’t see you. You could hear a faint muffled “Ni hi hi!” following him.

“Sorry ‘bout that interruption... Now, where was I?... Oh, yeah. You’re gorgeous, and I’d like you to join the Petty thugs.”

“...What?”

“W-woah, um, I dunno if I’m ready for that sort of... lifestyle?”

“Well, I mean, just an honorary Thug, if you’d like. No grifting required on your part. I just... I dunno, there’s something about you- I like you! You’ve got moxie, and lots of it.”

He hugs you again, and you catch him blushing a little bit. He turns away from your gaze, an... emotion creeping up his face. Not a smug grin, it's a smile. A genuine one.

Oh shit.

Oh no.

He had a crush on you.

...Oh. Oh, _no._

_You might actually be a little okay with that notion._

“Hey, Y/N, uh... Could Punch Tanaka get a little smooch or something?”

“...S-sure. That would be nice, actually.”

Punch hugs you tight and presses his lips gently against your cheek, and as you turn to face him, he, tentatively, plants another against your lips. The kiss deepens, soon devolving into a full-on makeout. His hand snakes back behind your neck, holding your head in place and subconsciously pushing you deeper into him. He separates himself from you for a moment, a string of saliva stretching between your lips and his.

“...Hah... T-they... My gang, uh... The rest of the Thugs can’t see through those windows, right?”

“Don’t worry, just, uh... Whatever happens, just so you know, that door doesn’t lock,” you say. Punch hums.

“That’s pretty risky... I like it. Punch Tanaka is all about risks.”

“So, you, uh... You wanna...”

He hugs you tight again. You can feel his heart racing through his chest.

“Well, this is... Moving pretty fast, but, uh... I mean... Punch Tanaka is never one to turn down a fan.”

With that, Punch unwraps his arms from your body, swinging off his jacket and t-shirt in one swift motion, clearly thoroughly rehearsed. He kneels slightly, and starts flexing back and forth. He’s well-muscled, but not buff- clearly not as buff as he thinks he is.

“Oh yeah! The love machine is here, and its name is Punch Tanaka!”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. You can’t believe yourself right now.

“Alright, okay. Okay. No, fine, you know what? I’m into it.”

Slowly, you undress with him, pulling your sweater over your head and almost knocking your glasses off your face in the process. He’s like a deer in headlights at the sight of you in your birthday suit right in front of him, clearly pretty surprised this is actually happening.

“Wooh! Damn, Y/N, you, uh, you look good!”

“T-thank you, Punch... You look pretty good yourself.”

“If you think I look good now, just wait until you see this.”

He fumbles with his belt for a second before dropping his pants without fanfare, putting his hands on his hips and striking a Superman pose. His dick is pretty thick and pretty hard. He draws in for a kiss again, and his cock nudges against your belly, twitching against you gently. He looks back down towards your chest.

“Holy moly. Tits.” He seems a little stunned. “Um. Yeah! Give them a shake for Punch Tanaka!”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you say, shaking them for Punch Tanaka anyway.

“Heyooo!... Uuhhh, can I touch ‘em?”

“...Yeah.”

He reaches up, gently squeezing your breasts, shivering. You have a hunch that he’s not as experienced as you initially expected.

“Oh, wow. Nice. Um. Woo!”

He’s nervous. He doesn’t need to be- he’s big, but not scary big down there- he’s cute. You gently lead his hand downwards.

“OoOH WoOOOooW.” You can feel his hand awkwardly squirming to find some kind of foothold down there. With how sensitive you are, the feeling almost brings you to your knees. You manage to keep your composure as he fondles you, pressing your thighs together around his confused digits in an effort to hold onto your clarity and not immediately flop over onto your back.

“Hhhahh, d-do you like that?”

“O-ooh yeah. Punch Tanaka? Yeah, he's a huge fan of pussy. Can't get enough of it. Hard to believe, when every babe in the vicinity is constantly swarming me.”

“That's super.”

You grab his wrist, guiding his hand deeper into your pussy. He shivers, gently grinding his index and middle fingers against your walls, adopting a vague rhythm of sorts.

“Holy shit, you’re so warm...”

He soon gets the idea, picking up pace and thrusting his hand vigorously into your sopping folds without any shred of mercy. Boy, you knew he was pretty muscled, but he sure has the name Punch for a reason. It’s almost too much for you, the sensation collapsing you into his chest, his torso barely muffling your cries. You sure as hell hope this room is soundproofed as well as it is, uh, viewproofed.

He holds you even tighter against him, his hefty cock grinding against your thigh and leaving a globby trail of pre in its wake. What a mess.

“Oh yeah, baby, you like that? You like Punch Tanaka fingerblasting you into oblivion?” God, he keeps saying the stupidest shit. It's... really hot, for some reason. As much as you hate how ridiculous his words are, you’re enjoying this way too much to give a shit about that at the moment. Hell, it might be enhancing this for you.

And then you get one hell of an idea.

“You know what, I think I finally figured out what to do about that mouth of yours.”

“Huh?”

You lead Punch’s head downwards, pausing for a second before the metaphorical lightbulb in his head lit up with a ding. He obeyed, kneeling down before you and wasting no time in burying his face between your thighs, his hot breath against your nether regions making you quake with anticipation. You promptly sat your bare ass down on a stored table, laying back as he ate you out, his tongue lapping your labia in just the right way. His pompadour awkwardly bumps repeatedly against your stomach with each of his movements, but that’s hardly a complaint on your part.

“Oh, wow... Y-you’re pretty good!”

“Mmphm.”

He works his way downwards even further, but pulls away for a moment before sealing the deal.

“Don’t worry, babe- I’m a professional.”

With that, he dives in, licking and slurping at your ass eagerly, gripping your buttocks firmly as he shoves his face in your rear. He’s amazing- a natural-born ass-kisser, and judging by the vigorous muffled groans he’s letting out, he’s loving it.

After a long session of his worshipping your backside like an Irish patriot kissing the Blarney Stone, he slides back onto the ground. Your knees feel weak and arms like boiled pasta, sliding off of the table onto him and strategically positioning yourself over him, sopping wet cunt teasing the tip of his manhood, twitching eagerly beneath you.

“F-fuck, please, Punch, just put it in already, I want you so bad...”

You look downwards to watch him enter you before realizing that, at some point whilst he was eating you out like a starving cat presented with a bowl of ground wagyu, he stealthily slipped on an obnoxiously bright blue condom, somehow without you noticing.

“Let me tell you something about Punch Tanaka,” Punch says, slicking his hand over his pomp with a very literal ass-eating grin.

“There’s only one rulebook he follows, and that’s his own rulebook. The Goon Rulebook. And everyone in the Petty Thugs knows that the first rule of gooning is ‘wear a rubber’.”

“Just get on with it, god damn it...”

With that, he bucks up into you, his member slowly filling you up as you sink into him. He was amazing- a perfect fit, stretching you out but not painfully so. It was like a hand sliding into a lubed-up glove.

“O-oh fuck yes, hell yes, o-oh my god, nngh, Y/N...”

His moans are like music to you. A very X-Rated, “Parental Advisory - Explicit Content” sort of music. You can feel his chest vibrate with each deep groan and gasp, his breath hitching and ragged with desperation while he bounces you on his cock, each thrust arching your back in pleasure as he hilts himself into you over and over. His grip on your thighs is like a vice, causing you to doubt your earlier thoughts on his physique and leaves you wondering how strong he really is.

You quickly decide to take some more initiative, lifting yourself off of him and sitting on his crotch, his cock wedged gently between your asscheeks. He gives you a very confused look before you grab his shoulders and haul him over, bringing him down on top of you.

“O-oh! Um, well, g-gotta be honest with you here, Y/N, I was pretty cool with having you do all the work, but, uh, if you want to see what Punch Tanaka can _really_ do, well...”

He grabs your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up gently to meet his gaze. His glasses are slightly lowered, and he fires you a glare of white hot lust. Once again, you’re stunned.

“He’s at your service, baby.”

The two of you position yourselves once more, your legs held up by Punch as his cock hovers tentatively close to your entrance.

“I hope you’re ready, Y/N, because I have to tell you something about Punch Tanaka, and it’s that he c-“

You refuse to let him finish that sentence, grabbing onto his ass and thrusting him into you yourself.

“o-OooOOOooohhh fuck, shit, this is way better actually, h-haahh...”

“S-shut up and, ah, oh god... F-fuck me, Punch, don’t hold back...”

He sure as hell doesn’t, and after a few rudimentary thrusts he’s soon pounding in and out of you like a piston, animalistic and raw, legs growing weak as he thrusts on autopilot, mouth agape like an idiot as he picks up speed. Punch releases his death grip from your legs and places them firmly on either side of your body, closing the distance between the two of you and allowing you to hug him closer to your chest, his head cradled in the side of your neck, each moan of his sending a buzzing sensation down your spine.

“Oh man, oh man, oh man...”

He twitches and clenches up, clearly getting close. You clench around him, his fingers digging into the cheap carpet underneath for some purchase as his body quivers, his thrusting growing more erratic and rough.

“Oh my god, oh shit, P-P-Punch Tanaka is...”

He shoves the entirety of his length into you, arching his back and letting out a deep moan, a hefty load of hot cum hitting your inner walls like a freight train. You wrap his arms around his back and lift yourself up to meet with his toned body, shaking violently whilst tears of pleasure roll down your face, twisted into a look of pure bliss, your cries and whines for more of him filling the air around you.

And with that, you’re sent flying over the edge. Your body quakes underneath him, then wracked with an earth-shattering orgasm, legs shaking against his back while you grip onto him for dear life, feeling his seed flood your pussy’s interior. Your mind blanks, the only thing you can process being the sound of Punch uttering out a single sentence in a quivering, pleading voice:

“I l-looOOVE YYYOOooouuu...”

For a couple of seconds, it went quiet. The arcade was kind of audible now, obnoxious pop music muffled by the concrete walls along with the shouts and laughter of miscellaneous goons dicking about with the cabinets. You can faintly make out a few kazoo noises as well. You don’t really care about all that, for once. All you can feel now is a sense of pure and distilled love.

With a loud and satisfied sigh escaping from Tanaka’s mouth, you abruptly meet with the whole of his weight falling onto you, jolting you out of your pleasure-laden stupor before reeling you right back in with a comforting warmth radiating from his heaving chest, rising and falling in tandem with yours. His abs gently press into your much squishier body like a very nervous stamping press on its first day of work, his hips still twitching and his manhood still throbbing inside of you in an instinct-driven attempt to wring out as much cum as he can out of his cock and into your body. His arms weakly reach up to you and wrap around the outline your body creates on the floor in an awkward half-hug, nuzzling into your cheek with his flushed face, beaded with sweat.

As your consciousness clears, you slowly begin to regain your senses. You see the lighting above you, now blinding to your frazzled state, you feel the rough carpeted floor, stained from years of wear, against your naked back, the freezing cold air of the party room hitting you and giving you goosebumps, and, uh...

…

...Uh oh.

You can feel some warmth dripping out of you.

That’s not a good prize.

You’re still weak from the massive fuck he gave you, but you make an attempt to heave your head up to see what’s going on. It seems as though Punch noticed this, too, since he lifted himself up a tad to remove himself from your insides, inspecting the damage alongside you. You see his facial expression morph from a happily spent, doofy smile to a horrified blank-faced stare towards his dripping cock.

“Oh shit.”

Somehow, this man came _so_ hard, _so_ violently, _so_ explosively, that his cock _completely obliterated the condom._ There’s nothing there. Zilch, save for a latex ring and a few bits of torn plastic, along with a few strands of his virility stretching from your crotch to his cum-drenched cock. The rest is gone.

Punch’s eyes are the size of dinner plates as he double-takes, eventually managing to say something with hitched, gulping breath.

“Umm... W-well, uh, haha, that sure is... uh...”

The both of you watched in a dazed horror his cum slowly oozing out of your well-used hole, a sordid reminder of your predicament to your afterglow-addled state. More and more realizations hit you with every grueling second. The fact that you’ve been ejaculated into by a dim goon finally begun to sink into you, not unlike his recently unloaded semen. Punch quietly sits up, puts his clothes back on, gives you a stunned look, and turns around.

“...‘Scuse me a second.”

“AAAAAA _AAAAAA **AAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAA”**_

Without any warning, he books it toward the nearest window, which, unfortunately for you, is the one-way mirror separating your indecency from a gaggle of green-haired nitwits. He jumps right through it, breaking it as he curls into a Samus-esque aerial summersault and runs away in a panic, completely unharmed. Physically, at least. You’re not entirely sure as to mentally, however.

Johnny, DeeDee, and a group of confused goons (but not Big Enormous, who was asleep on the counter), look in through the broken window. You scramble to your feet and grab your own clothes strewn about the floor to attempt to stay decent in front of a dozen strangers now staring directly at you, cum still dripping out of you and forming a sizable puddle on the carpet.

Johnny is stunned and sort of horrified of thinking about Punch Tanaka having sex, while DeeDee just gets a wide-eyed stare, looking as though she’s deeply disturbed as well, but also having gained a bit of quiet respect for her boss on account of him scoring some pussy. The rest of the goons just sort of run around screaming and hollering, not much of a change from the usual way they are, really. Johnny was the first one to speak up.

“Uh... You alright there, pal?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck while craning his head away from your kind-of nude form as hard as he can, his face clearly flushed.

“He does this shit all the time, don’t worry.” DeeDee’s voice is as unwavering as ever. Unlike Johnny, her line of sight keeps switching between you and the stained carpet. “He’ll be back. Freshen up or whatever, I’m gonna go have a smoke.”

She pops a carton out of her jacket pocket and lazily turns herself around to make her exit, Johnny eagerly following suit. Big Enormous is still fast asleep on the counter and the goons have started to get really rowdy without their leaders’ supervision, a few even kicking over one machine and stealing the coins from it. You slide back down onto the floor below, still soaked with the mixture of you and Punch’s fluids. As soon as you hit the ground, you start to drift off. You’ve earned a nap, you think, your dazed gut instinct going against your better judgement, as usual.

But, as luck would have it, for better or worse, you hear the telltale ‘bing bong’ of the arcade’s doorbell ring out just as you felt yourself slipping into unconsciousness. You haul your aching body off the table and, just as DeeDee predicted, Punch came back, entering the venue in the exact same way as before save for the army of dipshits trailing behind him. As if nothing had happened, he casually strolls back into the room and sits beside you, wrapping an arm around your side. There’s a bit of broken glass in his hair that he flicks out casually, not wanting to injure you by accident.

“You know, actually, I think I’d be a pretty badass dad.”


End file.
